It's a chum's 50th birthday today. He owns a pub. That's basically the best thing ever..someone who wants to celebrate AND owns a pub. Every part of my spirit wants to be there. The important part of me however, the corporeal physical part of me, that would get my spirit to the pub, is being kept rooted to my sofa by what feels like an intensity of gravity found on Jupiter.
Never before have I been literally torn apart by the appeal of going out to a pub for a birthday celebration and lying on my sofa in my pyjamas eating crisps. And of course when I say literally I mean not literally at all. The exact opposite in fact. The plan as we speak is to go in my pyjamas, say hello, then come home again. I could be back on my sofa within twenty eight minutes.
In other news, I've still never been able to solve that solitaire game. I keep it in my toilet and I've had a lot of poos this week as I'm on some wicked strength antibiotics as we speak and I just can't get it. You've got to clear one section at a time, but I can't figure out the order. I do not have the brain for this kind of stuff.
I have the sort of brain that can figure out how to insult some one on demand, but analytical stuff is beyond me.
I'm going to bet on something now. What are you doing? Is it cold out?
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